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Fulmination and photos
I have been reading Talk magazine. Talk is actually not a bad magazine after the first sixty pages. By then they figure that the society-gossip crowd has exhausted its short attention span, and they can concentrate on articles about why no one wants to be a member of the Washington press corps anymore (short answer: It's partially because the job has grown increasingly thankless, and partially because the era of the journalist-as-celebrity is vanishing completely, killed by the web) or the fierce new competition between beauty/cosmetics sites (which is hampered by the fact that the industry's behemoth, Estee Lauder, which has 50% of the US high-end market snagged in its various product lines, refuses to play along).
Wow, that was a long sentence. Breathe in. Breathe out.
One of the articles - the reason I bought the magazine, actually - is about junior-high students and their secret culture of sexual permissiveness, and though the article is well-written, it is not exactly what I would call balanced. Despite my grave misgivings, caveats, and general agreement with what it has to say, there is a pro-sex position lurking in this issue, and the article has - as is typical, I hasten to say - omitted it completely.
So I'm going to write about it. Not here - in mouth organ. But this one's going to get me a lot of argument, so for once I'm not dashing it off as quickly as words can form in my brain. No, no, I'm making this one airtight. I get tired of posting things and then having to say, "Well, that's not really quite what I meant by that ...."
And I'm too tired to write it tonight because I've been scanning and processing photos. Yes, the new gallery is up - sixteen photos selected from a batch of about sixty I took in a frenzied session this past weekend. They're orange (I hate using Kodak film, especially in indoor light) but I think they're pretty good.
Note, please, that while none of the photos is explicit, you may see more of my odd-looking body than you ever wanted to see. In fact, you will see parts of my body that a camera hasn't seen - that almost no one has seen - since well before high school.
You have been warned.
This set of photos is dedicated to Catherine, for reasons of my own.
Speaking of photos, the meeting I spoke of the other night was to (finally) make arrangements for a professional-photographer friend to begin studio sessions with me. He wants to give me a complete makeover. This should be a lot of fun.
I went there in my new pants from Express, this stretchy sort of material. I am so freaking tired of jeans. It is not lost on me that I'm gradually acquiring a new wardrobe, with all the shoes and shirts and leotards and now pants as well. I don't care. I love it. That night, I didn't have on a single item of male clothing. My hair was behaving. I looked great. I felt great. It was wonderful.
That doesn't happen often enough. If new clothes can help it happen, I'll buy new clothes. So there.
© Columbine
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The new ones, while also taken in the mirror, don't look like this. Don't be fooled. This is the one from Hallowe'en.
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